This morning I rode my bike past an open window and heard the sound of clinking dishes. I imagined the clearing of a breakfast table, or perhaps the setting of it. And I felt so close. I shared something so intimate, unintentionally. Something that even close friends don't get to share. Morning routines. Rituals carried out for no one other that oneself and those with whom you live. And the biker that happens to be passing by at just the right moment. Do we choose how close we come to others? How many sounds and sights offer this sort of intimacy that we just don't see?
I've been thinking a lot about the fourth wall. I've thought about it in performances, while I practice Tae Kwon Do, when I talk to people, or when I can see that people are looking at me. In the moment of a conversation and in the course of a relationship, between two people and between two cultures. What is the purpose of the fourth wall? Why does it exist and what does it allow to happen on either side of it? People stare, people watch a concert, someone makes a mistake, someone experiences something personal and intimate. What is afforded by heeding the fourth wall? What can it give to both parties? And when should we realize that it's there and have the courage to break it?
From the other side of the window I was able to share an experience, unseen, without taking away anything from its authenticity. In this case, the wall was tangible and there was no need to make a decision about whether or not to keep it intact. I was grateful for the hidden intimacy of a morning routine which brought me a little closer to someone in Japan.
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